


When He Knew/Murple

by Fintan



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Eternal Sterek, M/M, Sterek Campaign, Synesthesia, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2013-10-26
Packaged: 2017-12-30 13:41:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1019295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fintan/pseuds/Fintan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The colors of Stiles Stilinski - during sex - as interpreted by Derek Hale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When He Knew/Murple

Of all the people to ask the question, it was Isaac. He and Derek had been out for the evening running boundary patrol. Stiles had driven his jeep to the trailhead to meet them around eleven and had brought them a thermos of hot chocolate. Isaac took a steaming mug from Stiles and looked at it as if he was being given a glimpse into the world of wonder.

“What,” Stiles laughed. “It’s just hot chocolate.”

“Maybe in your world,” Isaac muttered, breathing into his mug.

Derek raised an eyebrow, but didn’t pursue it. He was tired of Isaac being so broken, but he didn’t know what to do about it, but… Derek glanced casually at the mug Stiles handed him with indignation. “No marshmallows?”

Isaac gasped, but Stiles, the connoisseur of snark, crossed to his car, reached into the glove box, pulled out a bag of mini-marshmallows and tossed them to Derek. “It’s okay, Isaac. Derek makes a valid point. I mean, what are we -- animals?” Derek snorted so hard that chocolate was suddenly dripping from his nose.

Stiles breathed on his nails and then buffed them against his windbreaker. “Oh, yeah, Stiles wins again.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a tissue, and dabbed at Derek’s nose. For a moment a flash of anger shadowed Derek’s face. Stiles leaned in and kissed him anyway. “Hmm, chocolatey.” Derek sighed and kissed him back.

Isaac managed to smile and look uncomfortable at the same time. Mumbling, without even looking at them, he asked the question.

“What?” asked Stiles.

“Say it again, Isaac,” said Derek. Of course he’d heard, but Derek needed Isaac to speak up.

“Nothing,” said Isaac. “Sorry.”

Stiles gave Derek a small shove, then crossed to Isaac. “What you say is important to me. I’m sorry I didn’t hear you. Say again?” Isaac looked up at Stiles with rapt fascination. He might never be able to trust the kindness of others, but he cherished it. “What?” urged Stiles gently, ducking to meet Isaac’s eyes.

“When did you know?” Isaac mumbled.

“Know what?” asked Derek.

“Stop,” said Stiles with an edge that Derek had learned to be wary of. He turned back to Isaac. “You’re talking about love, right, when we knew we were in love? Honestly, I think love at first sight is nonsense. I mean, lust at first sight – you bet. Hell to the yes. But love, yeah, that’s a trust thing and it takes time.”

Isaac looked at him doubtfully.

“Yeah – and maybe it happens in an instant, okay? I don’t know. I definitely felt something the first time I saw the Big D.”

“Yeah, fear,” Derek said.

“Oh, like fear and attraction are mutually exclusive,” huffed Stiles.

“But Isaac asked us about love,” said Derek.

“Hot chocolate makes you belligerent. I’m cutting you off.”

“Please don’t argue,” Isaac pleaded.

Stiles bumped his shoulder lightly against Isaac. “So there we were, Scott and me, standing in field in the Hale preserve looking for his inhaler. Mr. Dark N. Broody emerges from the woods and tells us to clear off his land and -- and -- maybe something in my soul recognized something in his soul.”

“But…” said Isaac.

“Which buys you nothing. You still have to go out there, heart on your sleeve, or in my case – claws to my throat, and try. No guarantees. And if you lose, it scars you forever -- while maybe making you less afraid to try again. What can I tell you?” Stiles shrugged. “It’s complicated.”

“Yeah,” said Isaac wistfully. “I just don’t know.”

“Then I’ll know for you,” smiled Stiles. He looked at Derek as an expression of soul satisfaction spread across his face. “Because if you win, the night is darker, the forest is sweeter, and stars more lustrous than anything you could ever dream. Love is the big win and for the big win you risk everything.”

Derek took a shuddered breath, tried to look away from Stiles’ face, and failed.

Stiles put his arm around Isaac’s shoulder. “Whoever this he or she is that you haven’t mentioned, they’ll need to be worthy of you, too. Which eliminates anyone who works at Hooters. Don’t look at me. I know where you go for lunch. And maybe I am being judgey, although the hot wings platter is fantastic.”

C’mon,” said Derek to Isaac. “One more perimeter run.”

“You’re not going to answer your beta’s question, O Great and Powerful Alpha?” asked Stiles. “He’s only heard my side of it. When did you fall for my skinny, pale, and freckled magnificence?”

For a moment Derek said nothing, then for another moment and the several moments that followed.

“Oh,” said Stiles, as the world ground to a stop.

Isaac looked at Derek, eyes wide with shock.

“So I’m going to need the cup back,” said Stiles in an over-bright voice. “It’s the top of the thermos, which belongs to my dad.” Stiles dumped the rest of the chocolate on the ground, carefully screwed the cap, took the cup from Isaac and twisted it over the top. “See you guys.”

Stiles climbed in his jeep and started the engine. He realized that he was sliding into a state of shock and he wondered if he could drive far enough away that no one would see him fall apart.

Derek angrily reached through the car window and turned off the engine. “Seriously, Stiles? Seriously?”

Derek opened the car door, grabbed Stiles with both hands and pulled him out. “Just because I’m not good at talking doesn’t mean I don’t feel.” Derek took Stiles in his arms and kissed him so deeply that Stiles finally had to push away.

“Air, Derek, air. I need air. I might be addicted. I wonder if there’s a 12-step program for air breathers? Hi, my name is Stiles and I breathe air.”

Derek glanced at Isaac. “That’s the adrenaline.”

“Among other things,” said Stiles.

Derek kissed him again. “You know what,” gasped Stiles, “breathing is overrated.” Stiles kissed Derek back until Derek had to break the hold. They both started laughing. Derek nuzzled into Stiles’ cheek. “I love you,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” muttered Stiles. “Yeah, you do. Besides, I already know when you fell in love with me. I just wondered if you did.”

“Really? When?” asked Derek skeptically.

“You’ll need to figure that out for yourself. I’ll let you know when you get it right.”

“Give him a clue,” suggested Isaac, trying to be helpful.

“Oh, hey, Isaac,” said Stiles, “forgot about you. Sorry.”

Stiles pushed himself off Derek and climbed back in his car. “Since Isaac asked so nicely, I’ll give you one clue.”

Stiles revved the engine. “Pancakes,” he whispered and drove away.

“Pancakes,” repeated Isaac, looking to Derek for clarification. “You fell in love because of a bread product?”

Derek shook his head. No, that wasn’t it, although Stiles had been approximate. “Murple,” he said.

“Murple,” Isaac asked, raising an eyebrow. “What’s a murple?”

Derek sighed. “The reason I don’t explain things.” Isaac watched Derek's retreating form for a moment, considering all he’d heard, then sprinted into the night behind him.

 

The call had come from Deaton. It was meant for Scott, but Deaton wasn’t surprised when Stiles showed up with him to the vet’s office. Things had been relatively quiet since the Alpha pack had been defeated and the Darach killed. Stiles realized that he hadn’t seen Deaton in months.

“Derek is back.” Probably both Deaton and Scott could hear Stile’s heartbeat ratchet higher, but only Deaton reacted, arching a brow and asking if he was okay. Stiles’ face had colored slightly, but he simply shrugged.

“He’s fine,” said Scott. “Is there a reason you’re telling us this rather than Derek telling us himself?”

“He’s been hurt.” Instantly Scott placed his hand on Stiles’ knee to calm him.

“That’s a bit like saying the sun came up this morning,” sighed Scott Scott said, rubbing his forehead.

“How – what is it – how bad?” blurted Stiles.

Deaton narrowed his eyes. “Have you ever known Derek Hale to be forthcoming? Most of what I’m about to tell you, I’m surmising. He’s lost a lot of power. At this moment he is, essentially, an omega – and he’s vulnerable.”

“That is such bullshit,” groused Stiles. “He is not alone.”

“You’re thinking human,” countered Scott. “He’s thinking werewolf.”

“Jennifer had a final gift for him. My guess is that it would have been her way to control him if she had lived. But now it’s just an affliction with no purpose except to hurt Derek.”

“What is it?” asked Scott.

“She introduced a toxin into his system that caused hallucinations, made him doubt his own senses, and probably make him dependent on her. It’s not designed to kill, but it incapacitates.”

“Is there a name for this?” asked Stiles.

“Synesthesia, a condition in which stimulation to one sense evokes sensation in another, such as when the hearing of a sound produces the visualization of a color, or a touch is received as music or smell or a taste. In Derek’s case, it’s scrambled. He doesn’t know what will cause what.”

“Whoa,” said Scott. “How can he even think?”

“With great difficulty and he’s paranoid about it,” said Deaton.

“Can you blame him?” wondered Stiles.

Scott shrugged. “What can we do for him,” asked Scott, turning back to Deaton.

Deaton sighed. “I don’t know. It could be temporary. It could pass on its own – or it could drive him insane.”

“C’mon,” said Stiles. “There’s got to be something.”

“At this moment, it’s beyond my knowledge.”

“But you’re continuing to research his problem, right?” asked Scott hopefully.

“Of course,” replied Deaton.

 

Scott and Stiles climbed back into Scott’s car in the vet parking lot.

“You got any ideas?” asked Scott.

“Research, I guess. Emissary voodoo dot com. Because I’m sure the information we’re looking for is going to be readily available and will be completely reliable,” said Stiles.

“So…to the laptop, Batman?”

“Well, Robin, I was thinking market?” said Stiles. Scott looked at him quizzically. “Can you imagine trying to shop for food when your brain is scrambled like that? Trying to make choices. I mean the cereal aisle alone…”

 

An hour later Scott and Stiles lugged three grocery bags upstairs to Derek’s loft. Stiles pounded on the door. Scott winced.

“Werewolf hearing, Stiles. All you have to do is say his name.”

“Maybe he’s sleeping?” replied Stiles.

“Go away,” said Derek’s voice through the door. “Please.” Suddenly Stiles couldn’t speak. Scott smiled in exasperation at this friend.

“Derek, we’ve talked to Deaton. How can we help?”

“Don’t know how, Scott. Talking – thinking – so hard. Can’t. Just need to ride this out. Alone.”

“No,” said Stiles.

“Go away, Stiles.”

“See, right there -- that’s bad thinking,” huffed Stiles. “Leaving you alone when you’re weak and confused. That’s not the way we do things around here, mister. You’ve got friends – and these friends brought food. Meat, vegetables, fruit, that God-awful protein drink you like. Because chalk is so creamy and delicious. C’mon, buddy. Gotta keep your strength up. Open up.”

From the other side of the door came the unmistakable sounds or retching.

“Oh…shoot. I’m sorry. Me and my descriptors. Sorry, Derek. We can get you something else? Would you like, I don’t know – pizza or Thai or chicken…?”

Scott clamped his hand over Stiles’ mouth, as the sound of retching grew louder.

“Sorry,” mumbled Stiles.

“Just…go,” said Derek on a ragged breath. The sound of his footsteps receded back into the loft.

“C’mon, nothing we can do here,” shrugged Scott.

“But the food -” asked Stiles.

“Leave it,” replied Scott. “Maybe he’ll change his mind later.”

 

Stiles followed Scott down to his car, but didn’t get in. Scott sighed, popped the trunk, pulled out a sleeping bag, and tossed it to Stiles.

“You knew I was going to camp out on Derek’s doorstep?” said Stiles.

‘Weren’t you?” asked Scott.

“This true alpha stuff is impressive,” said Stiles.

“Maybe, but your loyalty to friends is off the charts.” Two fists bumped in the night. “I’m heading back to Deaton’s. Let’s see if friendly persistence can annoy some real information out of him. You’ve got your cell. Call me if you need me. Yes? Look at me and say yes.”

Stiles laughed and pulled Scott into a hug. “You’re my go-to guy.”

“Okay,” said Scott as he climbed back into the car, “Now I’m going to ask you to do something that will seem impossible, but it’s important that you try.”

“Name it,” said Stiles.

“Don’t talk.”

“Rude,” huffed Stiles.

“I love you the way you are, dude, but right now words are knives in Derek’s head. If you love him – sorry, care for him – then you can’t use your words.”

“Words are all I’ve got,” said the exasperated Stiles.

“No, they’re not,” Scott said firmly. “They are just the outward expression of everything that’s great about you. So – be the greatness behind the words?” With a sweet smile and wave, Scott drove away.

Stiles stared after the car looking perplexed. “Whatever Deaton’s got, it’s clearly infectious, Obi Scott-wan,” grumbled Stiles. He hoisted the sleeping bag higher in his grip and headed back to Derek’s loft.

 

9:37 pm

Stiles lifted his fist to knock on Derek’s door, but stopped himself. He opened his mouth to call him, then quickly clamped a hand over his mouth. Stiles mouthed the word “Derek,” without a single audible sound, but nothing happened. He stood staring at the closed door.

10:10 pm

Stiles paced the corridor for the bizillionth time. He stopped in front of the door and lightly touched it with his fingers, then slumped down and sat cross-legged.

10:58 pm

Stiles peered into one of the grocery bags and lifted out a box of cereal. He looked at it with curiosity and started to open it, then quickly stopped. “No,” Stiles whispered to himself, “no, that’s for Derek.”

11:41 pm

The detritus of the cereal littered the ground around where Stiles sat. He scratched his scalp. “Great, “ he said, “Now I’m thirsty.” Stiles began to root around in one of the bags and pulled out the orange juice.

12:27 am

Stiles rested his head on the sleeping bag and fell asleep playing Tetris.

1:15 am

Stiles woke up and stretched. He looked around. The grocery bags were gone, but the door was shut again.

2:02 am

Stiles woke up. Derek stood in the open doorway, cradling his head in his hands.

“Do you have any idea how loudly you dream?”

“Umm… sorry?” said Stiles.

“Go home,” demanded Derek. Stiles said nothing.

“I said go home,” repeated Derek.

Stiles looked up at Derek, quietly shook his head no, and then glanced back at the floor. Maybe Scott was right because Derek heard him perfectly. Nothing could make Stiles leave.

Derek groaned miserably and walked back inside, but he left the door open. Stiles, never a stickler for formality, took the best invitation he was likely to get and followed Derek inside.

Derek paused halfway up the circular stair to his bedroom. “Sleep on the couch, just – Stiles, I’m so tired – please let me sleep.”

“So you _can_ sleep, then?” Stiles clarified.

Derek struggled for an answer he could put into words. When nothing arrived, he shuffled up the stairs and collapsed into bed.

 

Stiles intended to keep his end of the bargain. He would stay on the couch and leave Derek in peace, but that was before the crying. The sound was so low and wounded, so animal in its grief, that Stiles spent a few minutes trying to convince himself the sound was coming from an alley outside, but eventually it got to be too much. He couldn’t ignore the soft sobs from Derek’s room any longer, and he tentatively began to climb the stairs.

“Don’t do it,” said a voice in Stiles’ head. “Don’t do it. Leave him alone.” But that voice never stood a chance. Stiles froze at the top of the stairs staring at Derek writhing on the bed. Each movement was an agony for both the tormented and the observer.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry. Please don’t be mad at me. I’m sorry,” Derek whimpered. Stiles swallowed, forcing the lump in his throat to dissolve and willing the burning behind his eyes to cease. Without thinking, he began to walk across the floor towards Derek. He crouched on the floor beside him and tried to remember everything his mother had once taught him about prayer, but all he could feel was his panic rising. “No,” he thought to himself, “no. He’ll feel it if I panic. Stop this now.” Derek whimpered again in his delirium and without thinking Stiles reached out and touched his back.

_Green yellow green yellow green yellow. Movement like music. Leaves in a summer breeze. Derek was lying under a tree in the preserve. The day was bright, warm. He could hear Laura calling him, but he didn’t want to move. He wanted only to lie on the grass and watch the play of leaves in the tree as they shimmered in the wind. Green yellow green yellow green yellow._

What woke Derek up was the absence of pain, followed by the surprised realization that someone was touching his back. He jerked around in bed and was startled to see Stiles who quickly withdrew his hand.

“Sorry,” said Stiles. “I shouldn’t… I’ll go.” Stiles started to crawl back toward the stairs. Derek made a wounded sound that the hungry make at the smell of bread, but turned his back to Stiles and huddled into himself.

_Jennifer touched her fingers lightly along the torn flesh on Derek’s back. “Please let me help you,” she implored with soft sincerity. “You can’t,” said Derek tersely. “I’m werewolf. The wounds will heal on their own.” “It’s been hours, Derek, I don’t see any change. I think I can help. Please, won’t you trust me a little?” Derek cringed. Part of Kate’s legacy of devastation was his inability to trust others. Here was a woman who was nothing but kind to him. If he was ever to be truly free of Kate, he needed to allow others to help him. “Okay,” said Derek quietly. “I don’t know what you can do, but you can try.” Jennifer slipped her hand into the pocket of her dress. “It’s just an ointment. Maybe it won’t work, but thank you for letting me try. I just want you to feel better.” She squirted a small amount on to her fingertips and gently pushed the lotion into his opens wounds. “Okay?” she whispered. “You okay?” No, something felt wrong, but Derek wasn’t sure he could recognize what right felt like any more. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s fine.” Behind his back, Jennifer smiled in triumph._

A small, sharp cry from Derek startled Stiles awake. He had curled up on the floor beside Derek’s bed. He watched as Derek trembled. Was he cold? Stiles wasn’t sure werewolves could even feel cold. Stiles inched closer and lightly touched Derek’s forehead. It didn’t feel hotter than usual. For a moment Stiles let himself rake his fingers lightly through Derek’s hair.

_Blue white grey blue white grey blue white grey. Laura was driving the car, Cora was riding passenger, and Derek lounged in the back seat. He looked out the window skeptically. “Laura, I have never seen blackberry bushes in these woods. Don’t you think we could smell the berries if they were any here?” “I can smell them,” said Laura airily. “Me, too,” piped in Cora, then grinned at Derek. His sisters lived to torment him, but Derek had a secret. He loved their teasing, he loved them, not that he’d ever admit it. Derek glanced up at the sky through the rear view window. Clouds and rain seemed determined to threaten the blue sky. “I know, Cora, let’s sing!” said Laura brightly. “You know how our singing always cheers up Derek!” As of one mind, they instantly started singing,_  
 _“A few times I've been around that track,_  
 _So it's not just gonna happen like that,_  
 _Because I ain't no hollaback girl,_  
 _I ain't no hollaback girl…”_  
 _Derek groaned and covered his ears, but it was pointless. By the time his sisters came back to the chorus, Derek joined them at the top of his lungs,_  
 _“because I ain’t no hollaback girl,_  
 _I ain’t no hollaback girl…”_  
 _The girls discovered they couldn’t sing and laugh at the same time. At the top of his lungs, Derek sang the chorus over and over and over._

Stiles thought a bit of tension was easing out of Derek’s body. He removed his hand from Derek’s hair. For a moment Derek’s face held no expression, then he frowned.

_Derek noticed her. How could he not? She was sexy, the long blonde hair, the tight body, the intense smile. But he didn’t want her to know that he was staring, so he returned his attention to his homework spread across the library table. Was she walking toward him? Oh, heck, she was. Look busy, you are not a creepy staring person, so just focus on your homework. The woman was carrying a stack of magazines. As she walked by his table, one of the magazines slipped out and fell to the ground, but she didn’t seem to notice and kept walking. Derek picked up the magazine, an issue of “Gun World.” Huh, he thought, then raced after her. “Excuse me, you dropped this?” “Oh,” she said. “Thank you, aren’t you a gentleman? And so studious. I’ve been watching you with your books.” She’s been watching me, thought Derek! The woman gave him a big smile. “Hi,” she said, “My name is Kate.” She squeezed his arm. “Ooh,” she said, a wild gleam in her eye. “Muscles.”_

Stiles stood at the foot of the bed and watched helplessly as Derek’s body started twitching again. Not doing anything was unbearable, but touching Derek could make his suffering worse. “No, stop,” moaned Derek, “We can’t. Don’t do that…”

Suddenly furious, Stiles began to yell, “Knock it off, just knock it off. Wherever you are, come back. Snap out of it, Derek. C’mon. Wherever you are, get out. Be here with me.” Derek didn’t seem to hear. Where he was wouldn’t let him go. Stiles started yelling Derek’s name louder and louder. Frantically he grabbed the bed frame and started jerking it up and down. “Stop it, Derek. Stop it.”

_“Ufff!” exhaled Derek after his body stopped rolling and then for several moments he said nothing as he fought back the nausea and the pain. He could hear Peter’s laughter as he scrambled down the hillside. “I can’t believe you. You are such an dumbass,” chortled Peter. “I told you not to jump the cliff into the trees. I told you that you weren’t strong enough.” “You said you did it,” protested Derek. “And you believed me!” said Peter with a sneer. “That whole thinking thing, needs a little work, Derek.” Derek rolled away from him and tried to stand, but his knee gave out. He had torn cartilage and it hurt. Healing was going to take awhile. “Ah,” said Peter, “poor little nephew?” “It really hurts, Peter.” “Welcome to the world, cub. Everything hurts and whining gets you nothing.” Once again Derek came to the realization that talking to Peter was useless. He focused on his breathing through the healing process, the way Laura had taught him. Peter began to shift nervously. “You going to tell Laura? You know I didn’t make you do anything.” “Shut up, Peter,” said Derek. He wasn’t going to tell anyone. He had trusted his uncle because he was pack, but he should have known better. Better to not trust anyone with anything, ever._

Stiles stared at the werewolf snarling at him on Derek’s bed and he tried to see the man he knew behind the red-rimmed eyes. But he wasn’t home. Stiles watched as the claws emerged from Derek’s fingertips. Don’t look him in the eye, Stiles thought to himself and … back away slowly. One step backwards, then another, but a guttural growl made Stiles stop.

“Okay,” said Stiles softly, “I’m going.”

Derek’s fist slammed into the side of Stiles’ head. He hit the floor hard. There was a cracking sound and then Stiles was silent.

_In the days after the fire, Laura couldn’t keep Derek away the ruins of the Hale house. He was so close to feral in his grief and her hold on him was so tenuous that if she put any force on it, it would break. He kept rambling through the ashes of everything that has been his family, whimpering, crying. Laura thought she would go mad watching him, so she ran the preserve until she was exhausted. When she returned to the ruins, there was no noise. Fear clutched at her heart. Had Derek run away? Had a hunter found and killed him? Then she heard something, a babbling sound, the way a child talks. Laura found Derek in what had been the children’s playroom. There were broken pieces of a little girl’s tea set on a tiny table. The girls would torture Derek with their demands to have a tea party with them. He said he hated it, but he always gave in. He liked to make loud slurping and belching noises that made Cora laugh. He would make babbling sounds at the babies. He was making babbling sounds now for the ghosts of his sisters as he lifted the broken teapot and pretended to pour a cup of tea. Laura snapped. Before she could think, she had kicked the teapot out of Derek’s hands. He looked up at her, bewildered, hurt. “Stop it,” she yelled at him. When he turned away from her, she kicked him in the back. “I can’t take any more, Derek. You’re all I have and I don’t know how to put you back together.” She threw herself on top of him and wrestled him until she had him pinned in her arms and her legs. “Please,” she begged, “you have to come back to me.”_

Stiles regained consciousness slowly. He was in a dark and unfamiliar room and – someone in the room was breathing hard -- and the side of his face was tender and swollen. Derek had hit him. The memory itself was a shock. As Stiles touched his face, Derek began to whimper. It took concentrated effort before Stiles could sit up and peer in the direction of the noise.

The chest of drawers had been pushed to block off a right angle of the bedroom loft. Derek was behind it, low to the ground, peering from under the legs of the furniture at Stiles. It wasn’t hard to figure out. Derek’s fractured mind had manifested his remorse for once again hurting someone he loved. He had put himself in a prison. The realization hurt Stiles more than his swollen jaw.

On his hands and knees, Stiles slowly crawled across the room toward Derek. At Stiles’ approach, Derek rolled himself into a tight ball as far in the corner as he could get. Lying flat on his stomach, Stiles glanced through the chest legs at Derek. “Look,” he said, “it is not okay to hit me. Ever. But – you would never do that in your right mind. I know you’re in pain. You’re hurting so badly. If you weren’t some kind of superwolf, you would have cracked a long time ago. Let’s get you well, okay? And then, once you’re you again, you’re going to owe me a boatload of foot massages and back scratches. How’s that for a deal? Okay?”

Derek stopped whimpering, but he seemed afraid to look at Stiles. “Okay,” said Stiles, “If I didn’t trust you absolutely, would I do this?” Stiles slowly reached his hand under the furniture toward Derek, who looked at Stiles’ hand with fear. “C’mon, big guy, it’s just your buddy, Stiles.” Stiles wiggled his fingers. “These are very nice fingers, ten of the nicest fingers I’ve ever owned. Except for the thumbs. Okay, eight phalanges and two thumbs. Stop arguing and take my hand.”

Derek couldn’t even look at Stiles, his eyes shut tight in a grimace, but his hand – his hand inched across the floor toward Stiles until…

_Orange red yellow orange red yellow orange red yellow. Stiles was standing in the bedroom of his house yelling at Derek. “That’s idiotic! You don’t trust anyone, which means you’re incapable of making allies. We all need allies, Derek.” Derek wanted to -- sigh with happiness. Huh? But his default expression was a smirk. So he smirked. “Don’t you smirk at me, lunkhead. You are a living example of the limitations of being born werewolf. You forget that interactions between people are not all based on fear and power. That’s your weakness. You think you’re so hard and badass, but in fact you’re weak.” Stiles only paused because his rant had left him out of breath. “And stop smirking,” demanded Stiles._

“Stop smirking,” growled Laura. “Stop smirking,” commanded Talia. “Stop smirking,” yelled Cora. Two thoughts went through Derek’s head simultaneously: 1) If I could, don’t you think I would have by now? 2) Only the people who love me ever tell me to stop smirking.

There was a subset to the second point, which immediately took precedence over all other points of consideration: Stiles loves me! Derek decided to repeat that phrase in his head. Stileslovesme, Stileslovesme, Stileslovesme. It was like hearing music for the first time. In his heart a flower bloomed and it smelled like colors: orange red yellow orange red yellow orange red yellow.

They lay on the floor a long time. At first only their fingertips touched, but after awhile they held hands. Stiles fell asleep, Derek didn’t. Something like quiet began to flow through him, a quiet skittered by stars. He carefully pushed the chest of drawers aside and then knelt beside the sleeping Stiles. He lifted him in his arms and placed him carefully on the bed. For a time, he sat and stared at him. Later With his heart pounding hard in his chest, Derek lay next to Stiles, carefully pressing himself along Stiles’ slender back. After a moment he rested his arm across Stiles’ body and lightly pressed his hand over his heart.

_Red purple black red purple black._

Derek jerked his hand away from Stiles’ heart. What was that? He had expected light and bright, but that wasn’t what he found. Should he stop? Could he bear knowing? He looked at the man-child on his bed who kept coming after him, who wouldn’t leave him, who cared for Derek even when it hurt him. Derek realized that no matter the cost he had to know, he had to know Stiles’ colors. Once again Derek lay down beside him and pressed his hand to Stiles’ heart.

_“Sweetie, why don’t you wait outside?” said the nurse in her too-kind voice. “There’s a TV in the waiting room.” “My dad is on the way,” said Stiles in his bravest nine-year-old voice. “I’ll just stay here and be quiet. I won’t be any bother.” The nurse’s eyes betrayed her kind smile as she tried to decide what would hurt the boy more: being in the room with his mother as she died -- or not. Stiles smiled hopefully at her. The nurse sighed and returned to Claudia Stilinski’s bed. She studied the heart monitor and the blood pressure. “He better get here soon,” she muttered. “He will,” said Stiles, “and then everything will be fine. You’ll see.”_

_Fourth grade classroom. Valentine’s Day. Stiles had made two valentines: one for his bestest forever bro-for-life, Scott, and one for the brilliant redhead girl of his dreams, Lydia. He has used an entire glitter pen making the valentines, but he aimed to impress. Scott loved his! He hugged Stiles and presented him with a valentine covered with Star War stickers. “I don’t know any of these characters because I haven’t seen the movie yet, but I knew you’d like it.” “I love it!” yelled Stiles, jumping up and down. “Do you think Lydia will like mine?” he asked. “Sure,” said Scott uncertainly. Scott abruptly averted his eyes, which was the equivalent of telling Stiles where to look. The wastebasket. In which Stiles’ glittery valentine to Lydia hung over the side. “Oh,” said Stiles. “Maybe too much glitter?” suggested Scott after a moment. “You’re absolutely right,” said Stiles. “I should have used stickers like you did. You’re a genius. Next year I’m going to use stickers. She’ll love that.”_

_Stiles tiptoed down the stairs and peaked into the dining room. It was late. His father has spread work files all over the table. A bottle of Scotch and a glass were close at hand. Stiles sighed. His father, exhausted and angry, turned around. “What are you doing up? It’s late, Stiles. Go back to bed.” Stiles shrugged. “Can’t sleep.” “Go to bed,” said the exasperated Sheriff. Stiles looked down even as he dug in. “No.” “Stiles--,” the threat was unmistakable in the Sheriff’s voice. “Make me,” said Stiles defiantly. The Sheriff was an exhausted man, but anger propelled him out of his seat in a flash. “What did you say to me?” demanded the Sheriff. “If you’re going to hit me, then hit me,” said Stiles. The sorrow in Stiles’ voice was so complete that the Sheriff felt like he’d been slapped. “Stiles, is something wrong?” said the Sheriff. Stiles couldn’t look him the face. “Are you going to leave me, too?” he asked simply. The Sheriff’s face crumpled. “No, Stiles,” he said and pulled him into a tight embrace. “No, no, I’m not going to leave you.” “Promise?” asked Stiles. “Promise,” said the Sheriff. Stiles’ mother had made him the same promise, but Stiles decided not to think about that._

The back of Stiles shirt was wet. Derek pushed away before he made it any wetter.

When he woke up, Derek was alone in bed, but not alone in the loft. He could hear Stiles downstairs in the kitchen. He was humming. Derek tried to make out the tune, but he couldn’t. Maybe it didn’t have one. With a small gasp, Derek realized he’d just had a coherent thought. He looked around. Colors were a little bright, but they seemed real. Wait. Damn. Colors shouldn’t have a smell. Unless…

Derek made his way down the stairs. Stiles was busy at work. The smell – it really was pancakes. Stiles was making pancakes. From the stove, Stiles looked up. “Hey, Derek,” he said brightly and then immediately cringed. “Sorry,” he whispered. “You okay? You look better, I think? You’ve got to be starved. You’re all out of cereal – I may have something to do with that, but I’d like to think I was doing you a favor. I read the ingredient list on your box of granola. Thirty-four grams of sugar in a single serving! Do they think we can’t divide by four? That’s eight and a half teaspoons of sugar. That can’t be good for you. So I ate the entire box to keep you healthy. I’m like that. I’ve a giver.”

Derek let the rhythm of Stiles’ words play like background music. Lively, almost a samba. He walked up to Stiles and gently ran a finger along his swollen cheek. “Stiles,” he started to say in a choked voice, but Stiles cut him off. “Bygones. You were hurt and you lashed out. I’ve let it go.” Derek listened carefully to beat of Stiles’ heart. No hitch. Stiles had truly forgiven him. “Except for the enormous debt of back massages and feet rubs you owe me. You are totally on the hook for that.”

“For how long,” asked Derek.

‘Forever,” replied Stiles with a smirking grin.

“Deal,” said Derek quickly, flushing to the tips of his ears.

Stiles laughed. “Okay, see? That was funny, which means you’re still not yourself yet. But you’re getting there.” Stiles looked pleased.

“Who are you?” asked Derek. Stiles looked at him with alarm. “No, um, I know who you are,” Derek added quickly, ‘I just – I don’t understand how you – “ Words were not coming. Not surprising as his brain couldn’t force into comprehension the miracle of this man-child standing in front of him.

Stiles shrugged and held up a small pitcher. “Want to try my science experiment? I found two bottles of syrup in your fridge: maple and blueberry, but just a little of each, so I mixed the two. This should not work. They should repel each other like matter and anti-matter.”

“Was that a Star Trek reference?” asked Derek.

Stiles laughed. “Ha! Yes! The Big D is definitely back. Just for that you get the first taste of Stiles’ Sensational Syrup – which totally needs a better name.” Stiles opened the oven and pulled out a plate of warming pancakes. He rolled one up, dipped it in the pitcher of syrup, and held it up to Derek’s mouth for him to taste. Derek closed his eyes and opened his mouth. Derek licked Stiles' fingers along with the pancake. 

Derek smiled at Stiles. “Amazing.” “You like it?” asked Stiles excitedly. “Yeah,” said Derek, “and the syrup is good, too.” Stiles grinned and shyly looked down. “No, please, don’t look away, Stiles,” said Derek softly. Stiles met his eyes. “What?”

Words were not going to be Derek’s friend this morning, so he dipped his fingers in the pitcher and then traced his syrup-stained fingers across Stiles lips. Stiles laughed. “You think it’s also good for chapped lips? Okay. What would you call this flavor?

“Shush,” said Derek. Stiles obeyed and Derek pressed his lips softly into Stiles’.

 _Fuchsia tangerine lavender fuchsia tangerine lavender._ To feel this, thought Derek, I wonder if this is why people take drugs? Poor people. They don’t get to kiss Stiles. For a millisecond, Derek’s spirit seems to lift out of his chest. He kissed Stiles again. _Fuchsia tangerine lavender._

Derek didn’t remember how they got back to the bed or when their clothes came off. With fluctuating pressure soft hard soft hard his fingertips traced the perfect geography of Stiles’ naked back, the dips and swells, the long and the round, the mountains of light that fell like gravity into the valleys of wonder. Stiles’ eyes were shut tight, overwhelmed by the sensations. As they kissed and grabbed and tugged and pressed, they found themselves in a new world. Sex, it turned out, was only a vehicle, not the destination. There bodies weren’t just bodies, they were launching pads for where the ride would took them.

Later while Stiles slept with his head on Derek’s chest, Derek tried to catalogue all the colors of Stiles Stilinski. He didn’t know the names of half of what he saw. New words were needed to describe them, but –

It wasn’t just light. That was the shock. There was so much terrible dark, too. Derek had let his world become shades of black. Everything tasted of pain, fear, and loss, but Stiles had lost, too. Fear was his constant companion. Only his dark places were broken clean through with color and … life. The world had broken Stiles as thoroughly as it had broken Derek, but Stiles was … unbroken.  A new understanding entered Derek’s universe. Maybe he could be like Stiles, maybe he could be both: broken and unbroken.

The wolf inside Derek woke up. It had been quiet for so long, so close to dead, but now it thrummed inside Derek’s heart. What would it do, this newly risen wolf? What would it take and claim? But Derek felt his wolf do something he didn’t know it could do. It approached a superior force, thrilled to its power, and kneeled before it. The wolf felt joy in its heart as it lifted its head bared its neck.

When Stiles’ finally woke up, he was still in Derek’s arms but Derek was trembling. “Buddy, what is it? Are you okay? Tell me what to do?' 

“Anything?” asked Derek. He smiled so wide that Stiles started to laugh.

“Name it,” replied Stiles.

“Give me a hickey,” said Derek.

“Is that even possible?” said Stiles, smiling at the idea.

“Hey,” said Derek softly, “this is you and me. Not sure rules apply.”

“Okay, said Stiles reasonably, “let’s find out.” He licked a long line across Derek’s shoulder into the crux of his neck. “Ready?”

Derek, wolf and man, shuddered.

 

Isaac got to the diner just as the pizza was being delivered. Derek had grabbed a booth at the back. Isaac slid in beside him.

“That smells amazing,” said Isaac. “I’m starved.”

“Who said any of this was for you?” replied Derek. He pulled out the largest piece and slid it on to his plate, and pulled it toward him. He tugged the pizza away from Isaac who sighed and settled back in his seat.

“Well, if you’re going to pout,” said Derek. He pulled out a smaller piece and passed it on a plate to Isaac.

“Thanks,” said Isaac faintly. He didn’t touch the pizza.

Derek rolled his eyes. “Isaac, step it up. We’re werewolves. C’mon, show some assertiveness, just take what you want.”

“You want assertive?” said Isaac, suddenly flinty-eyed. “Fine, Derek, I figured it out.”

“Okay, I’ll play. Figured out what?”

“Murple,” replied Isaac.

“I don’t think so,” replied Derek.

“I asked Stiles.”

Derek glowered at him.

“And Stiles said to tell you not to glower at me -- because directly asking Stiles is me being more assertive.”

“Fine,” Derek said tightly.

“Stiles thinks it’s the name of a pancake syrup that involves mixing two flavors, maple and berry-something?” Isaac smiled with satisfaction. “Am I right?”

“Maybe,” said Derek.

“Oh, I’m right,” said Isaac with satisfaction. “But – murple? I mean why not… boysenmaple or maple blue or ras-ple.”

“You’ve been giving this some thought, haven’t you,” said Derek. Isaac nodded in happy agreement.

“Logic has limitations,” said Derek. “Sometimes when you’re trying to describe something with contradictory qualities that shouldn’t go together but somehow, against all reason, combine to make something incredibly wonderful and new, you just have to make up a new word to describe it.”

“So,” said Isaac thoughtfully, “you went with murple. But that would have been your second choice.”

“Really?” asked Derek. “Why would I go with my second choice?”

“Because,” replied Isaac, “the name Stiles was already taken.”

For a long moment Derek looked at Isaac with no expression, then he took his plate with the biggest slice of pizza and slid it across the table to Isaac. Isaac grinned wide.

“Any chance of keeping this between us?” asked Derek.

Isaac looked at Derek with great patience. “He already knows. And I think he’s planning some special way of thanking you – at home – where he’s waiting for you. Now.”

Derek wiped the paper napkin across his mouth, and then slid out of the booth.

“Pizza is all yours’,” said Derek as he pretended to walk casuallly out the restaurant.

Isaac took a big bite of pizza. “Pretty good,” he mumbled to himself. “But the hot wings platter at Hooters is fantastic.”

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to the wonderful ScarlettWoman710 for her beta work on this story.


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